By the time Reuben had walked the two blocks to the Crown Hotel, his stomach was growling. The Crown was one of the last old hotels in the city area that hadn’t been demolished or revamped. The shabby exterior gave way to an even shabbier, dingy interior with the musty smell peculiar to old buildings, as if the lives of all its past patrons were somehow entombed within its walls.
Thommo was perched on a barstool in the public bar chatting to the barman and shoving peanuts into his mouth. The barman was as old and desiccated as the building itself. Thommo’s face shone with beer and good humour.
‘G’day mate! How did you go?’
‘Crap on the first take, better on the second. How about you?’
Thommo’s face fell. ‘They let you do two takes?’
‘I’m sure that means nothing,’ said Reuben. ‘I don’t
